


Fifty-Two

by zaraegis



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Second Person, RIP, Unrequited Love, with the person you've been taunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaraegis/pseuds/zaraegis
Summary: Fifty-two love confessions from the first cruel taunt onwards.





	Fifty-Two

**Author's Note:**

> For that [anon](https://zaraegis.tumblr.com/post/170196651214/devilhey-dice-m-in-love-with-you-dicesuper) with the excellent prompt

**Fifty-Two**

The fun part about having such an easy target to yank your manager’s chain with is that you can just pull on it with three small words and suddenly his self righteous rant on how some such order is three weeks late because you haven’t signed off on the paperwork stutters and stops mid-word.

He leaves the office like his coat was on fire.

You feel an unholy glee at that and vow to use it at every opportune moment against your irritatingly unruffled manager.

Love confessions Two through Five go about the same, Dice getting two dull red spots high on his cheeks and all but cracking his teeth with how hard he clenches them.

He’s always looked his best with some fire in his bonnet, your Dice.

Six through Ten are less about getting him to stop nagging at you and more to see those eyes narrow dangerously and feel the thrill of your manager plotting your gorey demise.

You might have a problem.

Eleven is when he stutters only slightly and gathers himself enough to snatch the cigar out of your mouth and dump it into your drink. You sign those documents not because you’re  _intimidated_ , but because it’s the only way to get him out of your office so you can check to see if your face is as red as you think it is.

It is.

The next ten attempts have Dice regaining his cool and merely raising an eyebrow at you over yet another stack of paperwork. You can’t quite grasp the glee you used to get out of these, but you can’t make yourself stop either, craving even the minute reactions to your confession.

Attempt twenty-two is an embarrassment and neither of you will ever mention it- or the mistletoe in the lobby- ever again. You might have to replace the marble due to several stabs from your trident.

Twenty-three is written down on a small piece of paper delivered to King Dice’s office with the filled out paperwork for new lobby flooring.There is a completely ironic and mocking heart scribbled beneath it.

They don’t mention that either. But Dice brings a bottle of fine scotch to their next monthly Paperwork Meeting.

Twenty-four through Fifty are peppered in between the years, over breakfasts, in random hallway meetings, whenever they gang up on some poor soul dumb enough to sit at the table where they’re trying to out-cheat the other in Texas Hold-em.

It becomes routine, Dice doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing, and you don’t even look to see his reaction anymore, already moved on to the next thought that crosses your head to bleed more suckers dry.

Dice hums and tilts his head at your plan, then starts writing down a list of what he’ll need to get it done, altering bits to make things run smoother, without needing your input because he already  _knows_  what you’ll say about anything to do with floral print.

Fifty-one is never said outloud.

You look at this man, and you realize you’ve spent five years working together. Not looking for emotional blackmail, or loopholes in your partnership, but  _together_  in a way you haven’t been with anyone since-

Well.

 _Since_.

You haven’t had piles of paperwork cluttering up your desk in ages. The only thing you do have is piles of money instead, for a lack of anything to do. Your staff is working smoothly, your quotas for souls AND money are being filled.

You’ve gotten used to Dice at your elbow, sneering laugh in place and a quip at the ready.

 _Shit_  you think, vertigo making your belly swoop because your entire world is tilting on its axis.  _I’m in love with him._

You swore to yourself- you  _swore_ \- you’d never Fall again. Not ever again. You lost your wings last time-(You lost the Light and voices of all your siblings and now it’s so  _quiet_ -) there’s nothing else you could possibly lose now.

When Dice comes up to you the next morning, laughing uproarously at some foul joke Chips probably has been telling, small tears in his green eyes at how hard he’s laughing, arm bracing his ribs because he tends to cackle until he’s bent over wheezing if no one stops him.

He’s…he’s beautiful. He’s vicious and smart as a whip and he’s always there to back your play and you’ve fallen so  _hard_ -

Fool. You still had your heart to lose, after all.

“Hey boss, you won’t  _believe_  what happened to Chips last night-”

“Dice.”

Dice stops, mid laugh, knuckling tears of mirth away, already geared to listen to your wants and give you the world. Your old man is probably laughing at you in some corner of the universe, you just know it.

“I’m in love with you.”

It’s quiet, through the loud thumping of your heart in your ears. Dice straightens up and the last of the carefree laughter fades from his face as he looks at you inscrutably.

The silence is turning oppressive now and you might not even blame him if he threw you off the balcony into the replaced lobby floor like he’s threatened to more than once.

Cool hands catch yours, and you’re already bracing your feet to land on them when Dice tangles your fingers together and quietly says:

“Hello In-Love-With-You, I’m Mr. King Dice.”

What.

He chuckles and hip checks you as he walks past while you’re still standing and sputtering like some  _rube_.

“ ** _DAD JOKES??_** ”

You hear him laughing and you take it all back. You can’t love someone who uses dad jokes. You just can’t. Even the Devil has to draw the line somewhere.

You notice you’re holding something in your hand. It’s a crumpled piece of paper. You open it suspiciously and are greeted with your own writing.

_“Love you, <3”_


End file.
